The book is slim. The 177 pages offer more blank, white spaces than text. Lynch doesn’t really explicate his ideas: he distills them into succinct statements. But he’s hardly condescending. Rather, the whole book is an invitation. When you open Lynch’s book, he, in turn, opens his front door and invites you inside for a cup of coffee. And, perhaps, a twenty-minute meditation session.

[To read the rest of the review, click here, and you will be forworded to The House Next Door. Stay tuned for yet more Lynch mania, as promised.]

We Live

I'm not telling you to make the world better, because I don't think that progress is necessarily part of the package. I'm just telling you to live in it. Not just to endure it, not just to suffer it, not just to pass through it, but to live in it. To look at it. To try to get the picture. To live recklessly. To take chances. To make your own work and take pride in it. To seize the moment. And if you ask me why you should bother to do that, I could tell you that the grave's a fine and private place, but none I think do there embrace. Nor do they sing there, or write, or argue, or see the tidal bore on the Amazon, or touch their children. And that's what there is to do and get it while you can and good luck at it.— Joan Didion